Of Dark Love: XII

Francisco X. Alarcón

XII

once again I look out your window

and the world looks oddly different,

maybe the fields have blossomed,

or perhaps more stars have been born

delirious waves caress my feet,

something new, unknown,

sunsets whisper in my ear as well,

everywhere I find your odor, your shape

you are among old-growth pines,

in the fog along the coastal rocks,

around the most somber of afternoons

impossible to wipe away your job

from my eyes, from my sad mouth—

you are the universe made flesh